Love And Blarney
““His what?” Slack-jawed, she rounded on her brother. “You’re married?”
Sweat beaded under the rim of Ruairí’s collar. “It’s not—”
“You didn’t tell your family?” Jayme stared at him, large-eyed.
The hurt in her green orbs sliced him to the core. How could this be happening? Half an hour ago, he’d been fine—not ecstatic over his lot in life, but content. Now his sister—and the woman who’d torn his heart out, stomped on it, and thrown it into the shredder—were both glaring at him with matching expressions of outrage.
His thoughts were racing, his emotions a smorgasbord. He’d known he wasn’t over Jayme yet, but he’d been utterly unprepared for the impact of seeing her in the flesh. She wore the signature perfume her grandmother had commissioned from a Parisian perfumer for her twenty-first birthday—floral with a hint of spice. The fragrance sent him hurtling back in time to the heady days of their whirlwind romance and fairy-tale wedding.
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